


The Glass Man

by WoahThereSparky



Series: Life is a Hurricane [1]
Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Focuses on Rick, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Kind of a free verse poem?, Looooots of angst, Lots of Angst, Other characters are just mentioned, Sonnets, Suicidal Thoughts, There's a second chapter now! Very similar to the first one but I don't give a fuck!, check out the series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-07-12 11:33:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7101511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WoahThereSparky/pseuds/WoahThereSparky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rick's mind is a hurricane of thoughts.<br/>His drinking may be catching up to him.<br/>He is not sure of anything anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Glass Man

He had very quickly become accustom to the sound of shattering glass. Each bottle that hit the floor was music to his ears, a melody in minor key.

He hadn’t meant what he said to him. The faster the drinks come, the looser tongues become. 

He knew that Morty didn’t like his drinking, but he had become accustom to it at this point. He was used to his grandpa stumbling in at three in the morning, dragging him away on another adventure.

But lately, he noticed how fucked up Rick was getting. Some nights, he could barely form a coherent sentence. Others he would black out, with no memory of the knives his voice had pitched at his family. 

Morty began finding him passed out in the garage several times a week. He could hardly tell if Rick was unconscious, or if the liquor had finally caught up to him.  
Every night, Morty would check his breathing, his pulse, his vital signs until he was sure that his grandfather was okay.

Of course he was never okay.

But at least he was alive

Even just for now.

Rick wished that he could go back in time and fix everything. Get out of that situation, call the police. Not that they would have done jack shit, but maybe he could have prevented it.  
He lived in a constant swirling world of maybes. Maybe he could have been a better person. Maybe he wouldn’t hurt everyone around him. Maybe they’d be better off without him.

He constantly had alcohol in his system.

He needed it to function.

He needed it to get through the day

He needed it to forget

Sometimes, his memory would lapse. He would have so much liquor in system that his brain just couldn’t rack up the memories.  
These were his good nights.

Other times, that was all he could focus on. So down went the drink in a feeble attempt to fix the shattered pieces of who he was.  
Maybe more whiskey could fix it.  
But putting a band aid over broken glass does nothing.

He wished he could heal. He wished he wasn’t slowly poisoning himself every day, every night, every waking moment. But that was all he could do to cope.

He never had the courage to bring it up to his family. He didn’t want to scare them. 

Rick knew that they were starting to look at him as the useless drunk of the family.

A disappointment.

And the worst part is

They were right.

So he kept it all deep inside, pushed it to the back of his mind. Corked off his emotions like a message in a bottle that he hoped no one would ever read. 

Of course, they have no idea. No one ever found out.  
After all, he was just a scared little kid.

He had tried to express to them what was happening.

What had happened.

But he knew Morty would be devastated.  
The last thing he wanted was a pity party.

He opened his mouth, but the words could never form, his vocal chords twisted up tighter than the feeling residing deep in his chest. 

So instead, one bottle turned in to two.

Two to four

Four to six

Until his brain was a cloudy grey sky, threatening rain.  
And that rain would often flow from the stormy grey eyes, sunken deep in his skull.

He would lock the garage door, go down into his laboratory, anywhere to hide himself.

He didn’t want to be weak, he didn’t want to deal with living. Staying sober, staying alive, was a mountain that he could not begin to climb. 

Every time, he would stumble, and tumble down the cliffs into a darker place.

Reaching the summit seemed was impossible to Rick. The one puzzle he could never solve.  
And he was beginning to see himself as others did. 

A lazy

Harmful

Hopeless case of an

Alcoholic 

It was getting too late, the night would envelop him soon.

He hoped for that.

He hoped they would forget him.

He hoped he could just disappear.

But most of all

He hoped Morty wouldn’t turn out like him  
He still had an innocent hope in eyes  
And he didn’t want to be the one to take that from him.

Yet he carried on, 

With the drinking

With the drugs

With the isolation.

Yet he finally made the decision to stay alive

Every day

He told himself one more day

Just one more day

For Morty

For perfect, naïve Morty

He had nightmares of him finding out  
Of being sent away to a hospital

Having the one thing that kept the black whirlwinds of thoughts out  
Taken from him.

Some days, he didn’t know if he would be okay

Mostly, he knew he would never be okay

The glass breaks again

The music off key this time

A heavy head hits the table

A fragile frame seems able to crack at any moment

He is made of glass, but builds walls of bricks around him.

To forget.

To push everyone out.

To keep his secret.

But they will never know.

They will never know.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all enjoyed this work, though half of you might be crying at this point.  
> I figured I could try out a new, more poetic style and I think I really like it, so I may be publishing more fics similar to this one. If you have a request of a specific topic for me to cover, please leave it in the comments!  
> Have a lovely day all!


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